


one of the good ones

by writerforlife



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 08:34:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerforlife/pseuds/writerforlife
Summary: After an unexpected building collapse leaves Tony stuck underneath the rubble, Peter has to face his anxiety from the Vulture bringing the warehouse down on him to save Tony before it's too late.





	one of the good ones

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super excited/kinda nervous for Endgame so I'm channeling that all into fics!! I don't like how the situation with the Vulture was never addressed, so enjoy me addressing it :)

“Whoa, this is creepy.” Peter’s voice echoed through the empty building—he was tempted to scream  _ ECHO!!  _ like he was five years old and running down a tunnel. Except now, he was Spider-Man and investigating weapons dealers. With Iron Man. Maybe he  _ was  _ living his five year-old dream, minus the weapons. 

“Yeah, I’m not digging this,” Tony said. He lowered himself from the sky, palms facing the ground and feet together. His nanite mask ebbed away, revealing his frown and creased brow. “Are you sure this is where the intel said?”

“Mr. Stark,  _ super hearing _ .”

“Sure, sure.” 

“What?”

“Not so sure about super  _ comprehension _ . What were you doing chasing down Toomes leftovers, anyways?”

Peter sighed. Toomes was the head of his operation, but he had his associates. People dealing his weapons were still out there, still looking for Spider-Man when they could. Weapons—dangerous, alien-technology-fueled weapons—were still floating around New York, and he didn’t like that. He especially didn’t like thinking about Toomes bringing a building down on him in the name of preserving a weapons trade. So he’d do something about it and let Tony help him this time. He and Mr. Stark had gotten closer since the Vulture incident, but he still hadn’t told him about the rubble weighing down his back, pinning down his arms and legs. He meant to. He would. One day. Maybe. 

He looked around the building they were in now. Upstate New York. Abandoned. It was meant to be a tall office building with a natural surrounding, but funds had run out, and now, it was only concrete and unfinished, exposed materials. Much like the warehouse he’d been in with Toomes. He just couldn’t think about that too much. 

“Earth to Parker?” Tony waved in hand in front of Peter’s face. “Hello? Why are you still going after the Vulture’s guys?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t like loose ends.”

“Well, you’re going to have to get used to them. We end up with a lot of them.” He looked away from Peter, his frown deepening, but when he turned back around, his expression was more cheery. Peter didn’t like when he faked happiness—it felt like he didn’t trust Peter enough to show his real emotions. 

“Yeah. I can get used to them, but I don’t have to like them.”

“Stubborn as always. So what’s the situation? When does the party arrive?”

“The deal’s supposed to go down in half an hour.” 

“Half an hour.” Tony scoffed. “We could’ve been here  _ ages  _ later.  _ Ages _ . Or even later.” 

“Why are you here?” Peter blurted. 

Tony scoffed again and held his hand over the arc reactor. “Excuse me?” 

“No, no, not like that! This just seems a little… below your paygrade.”

“Nothing else better to do on a Friday night, Pep’s out of town. I just thought why not help my favorite Spider-Kid do his thing. You need backup.” Tony cocked his head to the side. Peter copied the motion, listening. “Oh, hey. Are those are our guys?”

Peter heard voices and footsteps. Tony flipped his mask back on and flew up to a ledge, while Peter webbed up to a set of beams and crouched atop them. Four men walked into the building, two with heavy bags slung across their backs. They spoke to each other in hushed tones before one of the two men took something that looked like a cross between a sword, laser blaster, and rifle. 

“Need a demonstration?” the man asked.

“I think that’s your cue, kid,” Tony said over their comms. 

“Hey!” Peter latched a web to the beam and dropped in on them upside down. They all jumped back. “Why don’t you—”

One of the men punched him in the face.

Shit. They usually let him finish. 

He worked his jaw and flipped onto his feet; Tony was already flying down from his spot. Peter punched one of them men, and Tony took down two easily, but the fourth grabbed the weapon and fired in a circle, a terrible grin on his face as green lasers hit all the crucial parts that kept buildings  _ upright.  _

“Toomes taught me that trick!” he shouted. “He says hello, Spider-Man!” 

The man grunted, and his weapon clattered to the floor. Tony stood behind him, chest heaving as he held out his hand.

“Alright, kid?” he asked, the nanites retreating back into the arc reactor. 

The building rumbled around them.

Peter gasped and tore his mask off, unable to form words. The building was going to come down. Fast. They wouldn’t be able to get out.

He’d be trapped. 

Again. 

Tony’s suit quickly reformed around him as walls groaned and tumbled down. Peter started to web things up, but dust obscured his vision and swarmed into his throat. Tony’s mask began to creep over his face, but a slab of concrete hurled down and struck him across the temple. Tony made a choked noise and dropped, landing face down. More rubble crumbled down on him, slamming against his suit. 

“No!” Peter shouted. 

He caught a collapsing wall with one arm and heaved it up as dust showered. On the ground, Tony shifted, blinking as blood smeared over his forehead. Pieces of his broken suit surrounded him; his chest and neck, thigh and leg were all exposed. “Mr. Stark!” 

More debris shifted. Peter groaned and webbed them up in rapid succession, trying to hit the fundamental spots. He lunged forward and twisted his spine, webbing up the area he held while supporting a new leaning segment. He repeated the action again. Again. Again. He was only a few feet from Tony. He could drag him out before the beams collapsed and the rest of the building came down. His breathing hitched as smoke and dust filtered into his nose and mouth. 

“Mr. Stark!” He blinked rapidly.  _ Shit _ . Beams trapped Tony’s legs. He hooked a web around a seemingly steady beam and attached the other end to the beam, then started to pull. His muscles strained and ached, but he had to do this. He had to save Tony. He would never let anyone, especially Tony, be trapped in the same situation Toomes put him in. Never. 

“Peter!” Tony called hoarsely. “Peter, get out!”

“No!” He shot up more webs. Beams, drywall, everything was shivering, as if it would topple any moment, but he had time. He would make time. 

Tony dragged himself to his hands and knees, a tear cutting through his the grime cover his face. What was his expression?

Chill rushed through Peter as Tony raised his gauntlet-covered hand.

Apologetic. He was apologetic.

“No!” Peter screamed.

A repulsor blast hit his stomach and fired him back—far back. Away from the building. He crawled to his hands and knees, fingernails digging into the wet dirt. Then, he felt for a wound, but Tony had only used a stunning blast, not intended to wound. Only to protect. 

“Mr. Stark!” He stumbled to his feet, dust swirling around him. 

With a massive moan and crack, the rest of the building came down. On instinct, Peter scrambled away, watching as slabs of concrete crumbled and caved down, like the world shattering. He screamed, the sound ripping through his dry throat. 

“Mr. Stark!” He fell back to his knees, shaking. “Oh, God, Mr. Stark!” 

His ears rang. In the distance, sirens wailed, but the sound echoed dimly. He ignored his pounding heart, the nausea churning in his stomach, his trembling hands as he surged forward and began tossing aside debris. Jagged edges sliced his palms open, but he tossed them aside, blood pouring over his wrists. Tony was under there.

He dragged a wall away, but more beams clattered down. God, he had to use webs. He had to use everything he had. He had to save Tony. 

Time ran together in clumps as he dug, fingers bleeding; he didn’t know if minutes or hours passed before the alarms came closer, to where he was. All he knew was that he couldn’t  _ stop.  _ He couldn’t, not when Tony was under there. 

“Peter!” 

Colonel Rhodes was here. 

That meant the situation was serious. 

He heard the familiar whir of the War Machine Armor, but it was distant, as if it radiated through a tunnel. Metal hands dragged him further from the debris, further from Tony. He wrenched himself free of Rhodes and stumbled away, clutching at his filth hair. 

He sat down—hard. 

His breath came in desperate gasps as he put his head between his knees. He remembered Toomes bringing the building down, the weight of rubble pressing him down, the desperation of feeling that he’d die crushed under the debris. Now, he couldn’t breathe.  _ Again.  _ Tony was under the rubble, Tony was suffering just as he had, Tony could be  _ dead.  _ But he couldn’t stop the tears. Couldn’t stop shaking. 

“Hey, kid. Spider-Man.” Rhodes knelt next to him, eyes gentle. “Peter.”

Peter shook his head.

“What happened?”

“They brought the building down. They’re… they’re dead. Mr. Stark is under there. Mr. Stark blasted me out, stupid  _ stunning  _ blast, my stupid stomach hurts and he’s  _ stupid _ because he’s under there and not out here and—”

“Peter, breathe.”

“He’s under there. He wasn’t fully in the armor. He could be hurt, he could be—” He gasped and rocked back and forth, trying to contain his panic.

“I know, I know. If Tony’s hurt down there, I don’t think he can hold on for a long time. We need to get in there.” 

“What do you mean?” Peter whispered hoarsely. 

“The building fell strangely. If we move one piece, they could all come down and crush him. There are pockets of space, though. We need someone who can crawl through them.”

“Me.”

Regret washed over Rhodes’s face. “I hate to ask you. I know you’ve had a rough night. If I could do it myself, but my legs still don’t have full mobility. Also, I don’t think my suit could take the full weight of the building, as is. There are other options.”

“What are the options?”

“Get some heavy lifting equipment. We could get Steve Rogers here in eleven hours, since it’s an emergency.”

Peter shook his head. “That would all take time.”

“Nobody would blame you.” 

“I…” Peter inhaled, steadying himself. “Mr. Stark doesn’t know, but when I was fighting the Vulture, he, uh… he brought down a building and trapped me under it. I thought I’d die. I had to lift the building off myself.”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t know, huh?”

“I didn’t want to worry him.” He swiped his remaining tears away. “I’ll get him.” 

“Peter—”

“I’ll go in and find him. If I lift something, you have to fly in and get him, and also trust that I can get out on my own.”

Rhodes massaged his temples. “Tony’s going to kill me for letting you do this.” 

Peter followed Rhodes to the teetering remains of the building. “Mr. Stark doesn’t have a choice,” he said.

“Jesus.” Rhodes laughed. “He wasn’t lying.”

“About what?” 

“Nothing, kid. He talks about you. All good things.” Rhodes clapped his shoulder. “You have your comm. Keep me updated.” 

Peter nodded, and without another word, crawled into the building. He throat constricted. God, it was too much like the situation with Toomes. Dust and ashes swirled around him as he navigated through makeshift tunnels and half-collapsed walls. The harsh ground scuffed his knees and elbows as he army-crawled; he realized, then, that he’d never be able to fight in a war, not a real one. His breath hitched. He remembered Toomes bringing the building down atop him. He remembered panic. Pain. Terror that he would die. He couldn’t leave Tony. 

“I’m coming,” he whispered. “I’m coming, Mr. Stark.” 

Ash filtered into his mouth. He coughed. The debris around him quivered. Where was Tony? How far could he be? He kept moving, going up and down when he could, until his leg brushed something cold. 

The Iron Man mask. 

The empty eyes stared back at him. 

“Mr. Stark!” he shouted. A terrible thought crossed his mind. What if Tony was dead? He stopped to catch his breath.  _ Oh, God.  _ His parents had died in a car crash. Ben had died in a mugging, Peter there to watch but unable to stop. All he knew was loss, constant, overarching loss. He didn’t want to add Tony to the list, not like this. Not ever, if he had anything to do with it. 

As he continued, he felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He swiped them away.  _ I can do this _ , he thought.  _ I can do this.  _

He saw an arm sticking out from the debris. 

“Mr. Stark!” he shouted. 

_ Tony.  _

He laid sprawled on his stomach, dust settled over his prone form and shards of armor, rendering his hair nearly gray; debris lay atop him. Peter crawled to Tony and pushed the rubble away to get a better look at him. Vicious cuts decorated Tony’s face, and his arms lay near his uncovered head, as if he’d tried to protect himself but failed. Peter removed his own mask, cupping his hand around his bruised face. Tony didn’t shift or make a sound. He quickly checked for broken bones—by some miracle, everything was intact. Peter rolled him over gently, careful not to jostle his wounds. Blood soaked Tony’s shirtfront and spread over his shoulder and torso, too; now that Tony was on his back, Peter could see that long gashes spread over his legs. He looked down at his own suit—it was now bloodstained. He was kneeling in all the blood Tony had lost, and it was enough to soak through his uniform. 

“You’re going to be okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered. He pressed their foreheads together, trying to push down his own anxiety. “I’ll get you out of here.” 

He assessed the situation, then pressed his earpiece. “Hey, Colonel Rhodes?”

“Yeah?” Rhodes immediately replied. 

“I found him. I’m going to lift the building.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have to. He’s… he’s not doing good. He’s gonna be okay, but I have to lift it.”

“Peter, it’s about to rain.” 

“What?”

“It’s thundering, and there’s lightning. The rain could make things complicated.”

“He can’t wait, sir. With all due respect. I don’t wanna—”

“Peter!” Rhodes exhaled. “I’ll be ready. Tell me when you’re lifting.”

Peter shook his hands out. His entire body ached, and the rain  _ would  _ affect his grip; his torso screamed in protest when he moved from the stunning blast from Tony’s repulsor. He didn’t have options, though. Not when Tony was bleeding and injured. 

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Okay, Spider-Man. Let’s do this. For Mr. Stark.” 

He crouched under the fallen wall, then laid his palms flat against the concrete. With one last look at Tony, he  _ pushed _ . The muscles in his back and legs quivered, and a desperate, involuntary scream ripped from his throat; he hoped that Rhodes would take that as a  _ tell me when you’re lifting  _ sign. He heaved the wall above his head. Torrential rain poured down and streamed over Peter’s body, so he dug his nails into the wall to secure his grip, feeling some of them crack and shatter. Tony’s blood mixed with water as Peter fought to keep hold.

“Rhodes!” he screamed. “Colonel, I’m here.”

Nobody replied. 

Did Rhodes know where he was.

Tony moaned as more debris fell onto his face, hard and bruising. 

Peter inhaled, steeling himself.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Mr. Stark,” he said.

He shifted all the weight of the wall to his left hand, then removed his right. The weight shifted and groaned, but held above. Peter shuffled, gradually crouching lower, until he was next to Tony. He grabbed Tony’s least injured arm, then  _ dragged.  _ He moved slowly, shuffling his hand along the wall. More rubble fell behind him as he brought Tony toward the glare of artificial lights. Where was Rhodes? Dust filtered into his nose and mouth, but he pushed forward. Forward. Forward. His arm went numb, but he had to keep the wall raised, if only for a few seconds longer.

He dragged Tony into the open, out of the rubble. 

He collapsed next to Tony as the rest of the walls crashed down. 

Peter dragged himself to his hands and knees, a high-pitched whine ringing in his ears over the crashes and thuds of the building coming down. Only after a moment did he realize  _ he  _ was making the sound. He pressed his hands to his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t inhale. Rain pounding against his back. Against  _ Tony.  _ That couldn’t help his wounds. 

He crawled to Tony and covered him with his own body. Selfishly, he draped Tony’s arm over his own back, pressing his face into his uninjured shoulder. 

“Please be okay,” he whispered. “Please don’t be dead,  _ please _ be okay.”

“Kid! Kid! Peter!” Rhodes voice carried over the rain. “I couldn’t locate you, our vision was impaired with the rain, and—”

Peter sobbed as his vision spun. “ _ Help  _ him,” he cried. 

Soldiers called in to help dragged Peter away from Tony; he let them pull him through the mud and away, sobs wracking through his chest. Rhodes knelt next to Tony, patting his cheek and saying his name over and over.

“We don’t have a heartbeat!” Rhodes shouted. 

Peter screamed—he didn’t remember choosing to scream, but the sound tore from him, violent, painful. He lurched forward, needing to get to Tony, needing to restart his heart himself if he had to, but a shooting pain radiated through his head. 

Then, he passed out. 

 

#

 

Peter woke up in a bed in the MedBay. 

“Shit,” he murmured. “Shit, shit, shit.” He clamored out of the bed, feeling the bandages wrapped around his ribs, and stumbled out of his room, then down the hall. Where was Tony? His legs and side ached, but he kept moving, legs stiff. He heard a voice from another room, speaking in a hushed tone. A mournful tone? Oh, God. What if he’d been too late? What if Tony was already dead? Rhodes hadn’t known if he had a heartbeat. He could’ve been too late. 

He came to the open lobby and lingered in the threshold. 

Rhodes was speaking on the phone.

“No, none of that’s true. He’s alive.” Rhodes cupped a hand over the back of his neck as he spoke. “They brought the building down on him and Spider-Man. Our friend from Brooklyn dug him out.” He nodded as he listened to whoever was on the other side of the call. “Yeah, they’re both okay. Stubborn, the both of them. It was touch-and-go for a bit, but he’ll pull through.” Rhodes paused. 

Peter listened very,  _ very  _ carefully. Super hearing had its benefits.

“I want to be there to help. Eventually,” a tinny voice said. 

Rhodes nodded. ‘I know, Steve. I know.”

_ Steve.  _ As in Steve Rogers? 

Rhodes caught Peter’s eye. “Look, good to talk to you. I’ll tell you if anything changes.” He hung up as he walked to Peter, a half-smile across his face. “Eavesdropping?”

“So you can just  _ call  _ Captain America?” Peter blurted. 

Rhodes smiled, but his eyes appeared tired. “I can call Sam Wilson. After the whole shitshow with the Accords, he called me to apologize profusely. We stayed in touch. Sometimes he puts Steve on the line, in desperate situation.”

“Is this a desperate situation?”

“Tones was in a bad spot. He flatlined…” Rhodes swore under his breath. “Shit. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” 

Peter staggered back. “He…”

“He’s okay, Peter. He’s okay, there were just a few moments where…” Rhodes shook his head. “Anyways. Rogers worries about Tony. Neither one will call each other. Don’t worry about that, though. You have better things to think about.”

“Can I see him?”

“If you let him sleep. Come on.” Rhodes limped along the corridor, bringing Peter to a private room in the medical wing. “Let him  _ rest _ ,” he said pointedly, then left Peter alone. 

Peter stepped inside, heart hammering. Tony laid tucked underneath blankets, a serene look on his face. Oxygen tubes snaked from his nose and an IV from his vein; bruises and cuts covered his face and exposed skin. But he was  _ alive.  _ Wonderfully, completely alive. 

Exhaustion washed over him again as he settled in the chair next to Tony’s bed. He reached forward and took Tony’s hand, cradling it gently in his and avoiding the wounds. 

His eyes fell shut. 

When he opened them again, Tony was staring at him with a soft smile on his face. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter whispered. 

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony’s voice came out as a weak croak. “Wow. I sound like I died.”

Peter inhaled sharply and ran his hands through his hair, feeling his heart going absolutely  _ wild _ . “Mr.  _ Stark _ , please. Please don’t say that. You…”

“Oh, Christ. Rhodey told you.” 

“You…” Words seemed to lodge in Peter’s throat. “You…” His chest tightened. 

A sob wracked through him. 

He vaguely registered Tony murmuring his name as he bowed his head onto the bed. His wounds ached, but he couldn’t stop the tears. Tony gripped his fingers, and with his own free hand, reached to cup Peter’s cheek.

“Hey,” Tony whispered. “I’m not dead.”

“You  _ flatlined _ ,” Peter said. “That means you were dead.”

“Only for a few minutes.”

“ _ Minutes?  _ I should’ve been faster, I should’ve—”

“None of that. Rhodey’s been talking to me, too. Him and his big mouth.” 

“What’d he say?” 

“He said you crawled back into the building to drag me out.”

Peter studied his lap. “Yeah.”

“He also said we needed to talk.”

“Remember when you took my suit away?” Tears rose in Peter’s eyes; his chest tightened, too. “So, uh, Toomes thought it would be fun to bring a building down on me when I confronted him.”

“He  _ what? _ ”

“No, no, don’t sound like that. It turned out okay. I was trapped for a few minutes, and I was screaming a lot, but… um… I thought… I thought I’d die there. It was just a thought. But I got out. It’s okay, it’s okay. I thought about you, and I got out.”

He expected Tony to crack a joke, maybe congratulate him for making his way out. Instead, he swore under his breath and ran his hand over his beard. “And you crawled into a goddamn collapsed building today? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why did you blast me out? Which, thanks for that, by the way, my side is all bruised.”

“I blasted you out because I didn’t want _you_ to be in this bed, or under the building. I didn’t want to be dragging you from the rubble.”

“I could’ve taken it.”

“You could’ve taken a building?”

“I did it before.” 

“Oh, low blow. Look.” Tony met Peter’s gaze. “Say whatever you want, I don’t care. I can talk and listen for days. I’m always gonna protect you, though. I’m always gonna be the adult.”

“But I want to be like you,” Peter said plaintively. “I want to be strong.”

“No, no, stop with that,” Tony said. “I meant what I said. I want you to be better. I may look like I’m strong, kid, but 2013? I made forty-some suits I didn’t want to step inside because I couldn’t deal with my mind after I flew that nuke into space. I stood as the Avengers were torn apart. Hell, I brought you to the airport at fourteen. I’ve made so many mistakes, I denied the problems this life caused. PTSD is a thing, anxiety is a thing, depression is a thing. You may experience it. You may get nightmares. You get nightmares? Tell me the truth”

Peter nodded. 

“Of course you. You were trapped under a building, and—”

“I lifted it off!”

“—and didn’t tell anyone. These are things you share with an adult.” Tony grimaced as leaned back against the pillow. “Dear God, I’m not on enough drugs. Did you know that? I’m in so much pain, I own this building and they won’t give me more drugs. But that isn’t important. Peter, things like that happen, you tell me so I can help you. Promise?”

Peter felt a warm feeling blossoming through his chest. “Promise.”

“Okay, glad we cleared that up.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Tony’s heart monitor beeping lowly. The arc reactor glowed softly, a gentle blue under the white sheet. Peter traced circles on the edge of the mattress, trying not to look at Tony’s wounds. 

“What type of regrets?” Peter whispered.

“Kid, we shouldn’t go into that now. A lot surrounding Cap. A lot.”

“What happened between you two? After the airport?”

Tony suddenly looked ten years older, his hair grayer and the lines on his face more prominent. Peter wished he could take the words back, wished he could’ve saved Tony before the building fell. He wished he could go back in time and stop whatever happened between him and Captain America. 

“Not now,” Tony whispered. 

“Do you regret bringing me to Germany?” Peter asked. 

Tony smiled sadly. “I shouldn’t have done it. You were too young, and I didn’t know Cap would be that violent. But never,  _ ever  _ think I regret meeting you. You…” He closed his eyes and inhaled, pressing his hand to his side. “Sorry. Pain. You add a lot to my life. I wouldn’t give that up. Rogers screwed me over in a lot of ways, but all the fuckery with him gave me you.” 

“You mean that?” 

“One hundred percent. You…” Tony nodded and patted Peter’s arm. “You’re one the good ones, Pete. Don’t forget that. There aren’t many left.” 

Peter ducked his head to hide a smile.  _ One of the good ones.  _ He would hang onto that through the nightmares, through the anxiety and hardships. 

“You’re one of the good ones, too, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “You know that, right?” 

“Kid—”

“You are.”

Tony nodded, eyes drooping closed. Peter stood and eased Tony lower into the bed, lifting his head to fluff the pillow. Tony made a small, half-hearted noise of protest as Peter pulled the blankets over his chest, but a smile crept over his face. Peter watched as Tony drifted asleep, his facial muscles relaxing. 

Yeah. Tony was definitely one of the good ones, too, and he couldn’t let him forget it. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr (@such-geekiness) and chat about Marvel!!


End file.
